Increasingly it has become the norm to lay in bed until after nine o’clock in the morning – and often later. I find this disturbing for two reasons. One, I now routinely retire promptly at ten o’clock in the evening so it is not as though I am deprived of a reasonable sleep if I were to awaken at 7:00 am or 8:00 am at the outside. Two, the regularity of these prolonged sleeps (and frequent contemporaneous afternoon naps, slumped at my desk, head abandonly bowed to the carpet) appear to predict a common model for the elderly (which naturally punctuates an unflattering decomposition). Overall the effect of this somniferous template is one of universal drowsiness or lack of clarity.  In short, dull.  Or boring. Perhaps even flat.

Definition has forever been a mark of perfection. The ideal embraces everything from tightened screws in the arms of spectacles, to the faultless finish on an automobile, to manicured nails or wound clocks, polished brass accessories or a straightened picture frame on the wall. Alternatively the capitulation to ease of almost any description inhabits the remainder with a commensurate lack of detail. It is at insouciant moments such as these that life is reinvigorated by its occasional interruptions – whether an unforeseen visit from a friend or a new toy or the completion of a period of endurance (for whatever multitude of reasons). Life then becomes revitalized by novelty and inquisitiveness, much the same predilection no doubt that spirited the notorious discoverers and adventurers of our human history among them Marco Polo, Christopher Columbus, Sir Francis Drake, Captain James Cooke, Sir Edmund Hillary, David Livingstone and Samuel de Champlain). Perhaps the provocation is as simple as the sun beginning to shine more brightly, restoring that narcotic scrupulousness.

In point of fact, it is virtually impossible to characterize the perfect day.  There are far too many alternatives to be chosen on which to decide. Even the definition of perfect is beyond the imagination. And you can be certain that what works for you will not be the same as what works for another. Both can as well be counted upon to advance their respective position enthusiastically.

As usual I have managed to distort a simple subject into a ball of winding complication. The complication has however ended. Hitherto I was manipulating myself behind a moving tree in order to shelter myself from consequence. But the threat of reverberation has dissolved. There were moderate duties to perform – mostly just housekeeping – but nonetheless imperative, not a mere domestic triviality to be off-handedly dismissed as banal.

Dear Reader, you know when I tell you that beneath everything there are details, I am excusing myself from overtness. But be assured it is of no remorseful consequence, least of all to you; but predominantly because it is such an embarrassment to me (to disclose the unbridled and very uninteresting truth of the matter). Which is to say, today I enjoyed the benefit of one of those unforeseen events to which I alluded earlier. The perspective of the entire day shifted from dull to variegated. Quite honestly I haven’t the capacity to enlarge upon the prismatic blotches because I was so absorbed in my private enterprise that I missed the sudden bursts of sunshine, the passing of fluffy white clouds and the glitter of an azure sky.